Monday, March 10th, 9:54am:
Received text message from esteemed colleague and roommate Chris reading, "Whoa dude. Asgeir - Torrent. Check it out."
9:55am:
Opened Spotify and listened to "Torrent" by Asgeir.
9:57am:
Auditory arousal achieved. Listened to rest of album. More arousal.
Tuesday, March 11th, around 7:30pm:
Discussed Asgeir album with roommate and concluded that the band is the Icelandic Bon Iver. Freaking spot on.
7:45pm:
Searched future tour dates on Do512.com and discovered that Asgeir would be performing at a free show on Rainey Street the next night for SXSW. No freaking way.
Wednesday, March 12th, around 9:00pm:
Showed up by myself to Blackheart on Rainey Street for the show.
10:00pm:
Asgeir show began.
10:27pm:
Had slightly embarrassing emotional experience induced by beauteous music.
10:53pm:
Shook lead singer's hand. Whoa. Those were soft hands. Does he moisturize? Probably. So cool.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Friday, February 7, 2014
Friday, January 24, 2014
Antics
My senior year in high school I took a class called "Athletic Training". It would be wrong to call it a "class", though; it was more of a one-hour workout in the middle of the school day. I liked Athletic Training quite a bit. There wasn't any homework, and it turns out that picking up and vigorously moving heavily weighted objects is a good way for an 18 year-old testosterone slave to blow off some steam.
Somewhere around the end of the semester we had a substitute teacher come in to supervise our workout. But, this wasn't just any substitute. It was Mr. Gove. Mr. Gove was the previous Headmaster of the high school who had retired a few years earlier. By all accounts, Mr. Gove was an upstanding and well-respected dude; and, as I would find out a little later on, he had a set of real brass ones. Anyway, I guess I was feeling quite senior-y that day, because I decided I would not be participating in the workout. Instead, I went into the locker-room to get dressed and I never came back out. I just sat there in that locker-room and did nothing.
Looking back, it was kind of wonderful just sitting there in that smartphone-less world... doing nothing...
About 20 minutes later, though, my tranquility was disturbed by a commotion outside of the locker-room door. Someone was coming in. I bolted for the nearest bathroom stall and quickly stood on top of the toilet. The best hiding spot of all time. I would be safe there.
I braced myself as the door creaked open. It was Mr. Gove. He began walking through the locker-room in a slow, deliberate manner peering between the rows of lockers. He was methodical. I didn't make a sound. Mr. Gove then ever-so-slowly made his way toward the bank of toilet stalls where I had taken up shelter. I didn't even breathe. Surely, he would recognize that there were no feet under the stall doors and that would be enough to satisfy him. Surely, he would be gone soon and I would be able to return to my peaceful solitude.
No.
Impossibly, Mr. Gove sauntered up to the bathroom stall where I was hidden and looked through the cracks. He ACTUALLY looked through the cracks. The AUDACITY. I was shocked; offended, even. But, I would be remiss if I did not admit that I was also a little bit impressed. He was a worthy adversary.
For a moment there was silence. We stared at eachother through the crack of the bathroom stall. Finally, Mr. Gove bellowed out, "Doug..."
Nothing.
"What are you doing?"
With my dignity still fully intact, I looked Mr. Gove straight in the eye through the crack in the stall door and I responded, "This is how I poop."
Somewhere around the end of the semester we had a substitute teacher come in to supervise our workout. But, this wasn't just any substitute. It was Mr. Gove. Mr. Gove was the previous Headmaster of the high school who had retired a few years earlier. By all accounts, Mr. Gove was an upstanding and well-respected dude; and, as I would find out a little later on, he had a set of real brass ones. Anyway, I guess I was feeling quite senior-y that day, because I decided I would not be participating in the workout. Instead, I went into the locker-room to get dressed and I never came back out. I just sat there in that locker-room and did nothing.
Looking back, it was kind of wonderful just sitting there in that smartphone-less world... doing nothing...
About 20 minutes later, though, my tranquility was disturbed by a commotion outside of the locker-room door. Someone was coming in. I bolted for the nearest bathroom stall and quickly stood on top of the toilet. The best hiding spot of all time. I would be safe there.
I braced myself as the door creaked open. It was Mr. Gove. He began walking through the locker-room in a slow, deliberate manner peering between the rows of lockers. He was methodical. I didn't make a sound. Mr. Gove then ever-so-slowly made his way toward the bank of toilet stalls where I had taken up shelter. I didn't even breathe. Surely, he would recognize that there were no feet under the stall doors and that would be enough to satisfy him. Surely, he would be gone soon and I would be able to return to my peaceful solitude.
No.
Impossibly, Mr. Gove sauntered up to the bathroom stall where I was hidden and looked through the cracks. He ACTUALLY looked through the cracks. The AUDACITY. I was shocked; offended, even. But, I would be remiss if I did not admit that I was also a little bit impressed. He was a worthy adversary.
For a moment there was silence. We stared at eachother through the crack of the bathroom stall. Finally, Mr. Gove bellowed out, "Doug..."
Nothing.
"What are you doing?"
With my dignity still fully intact, I looked Mr. Gove straight in the eye through the crack in the stall door and I responded, "This is how I poop."
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